


i didn't pour the whiskey

by nighimpossible



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), The Unsleeping City
Genre: Addiction, Lingerie, Multi, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Polyamory Negotiations, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/nighimpossible
Summary: With Esther in front of her and Ricky behind her, Sofie is—Sofiewants—Shit.Sofie needs a drink.
Relationships: Sofia Bicicleta/Ricky Matsui/Esther Sinclair
Comments: 9
Kudos: 42
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	i didn't pour the whiskey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celaenos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celaenos/gifts).



> Dear recipient: I absolutely loved your Emily Axford-related prompts, and I hope I did Sofie justice here! God bless that woman and her D&D related creations. Happy holidays!
> 
> Warnings include a frank, serious discussion and internal contemplation of Sofie's relationship with alcohol. This fic takes place in between seasons 1 and 2.
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift's song, "this is me trying."

“You know, Oprah once said eighty percent of women are wearing the wrong bra size,” Sofie tells Esther as they thumb through the lingerie aisle at J.C. Penny, a store that has not once disappointed Sofia Bicycleta Lee—hand to La Gran Gata, this place has everything a girl could need. When Esther suggested a fun afternoon on the town, Sofie already had the perfect shopping spot in mind. Ricky trails behind them looking extremely focused on Sofie’s opinions and carefully not looking at the various mannequins with the little bits of lace strewn over them haphazardly, likely out of sheer politeness. Sofie thinks shrewdly that fancy negligees are meant to be looked at, but she doesn't try and stop Ricky from averting his gaze. “Honestly, with what they charge for one of these lace numbers, it’s a crime to let you walk out of the store with a negligee that’s just not gonna fit right.”

Esther's expression clouds.

“How much are—?” Esther asks, before looking at a price tag and going a little green around the gills. “Truly, I wish I hadn’t looked.”

Ricky narrows his eyes at the price tag of the red number Esther has in her hands. “I think that’s how much our utilities cost.” He narrows his eyes. “What are these things made from?” Ricky lowers his voice to a stage whisper. “Is this part of the Unsleeping City? Do they have magical properties?”

Esther looks at Ricky with such fondness that Sofie’s heart hurts. “No magic, it’s just pricey,” Esther says, tucking a lock of hair behind Ricky’s ear. He grins at the caress as Sofie tucks her own hair behind her ears. “I’m really more used to a bralette situation,” Esther continues, looking over at Sofie with a hint of blush on her cheeks.

“This is my treat, and you know what? You get what you pay for,” Sofie says, waving off the expensive price tag. Her voice is caught in her throat for some reason, and she coughs a little to clear it. “Not a lot of lingerie shopping for me lately, what with Dale getting murdered by a real life succubus sent from Hell to destroy my only happiness. I have the extra cash.”

Sofie says it offhandedly, like if it all comes out quick enough it will hurt less. It doesn’t, not really, but she manages to focus on the padded demi-cup edged with a scallop stitch in her hands instead of bursting into tears, so—that’s progress. There are a lot of steps to recovery and this is just one of them. Sofie presses down the desire to go to the bar at the top of the department store and get a drink. Instead, she says a silent prayer to La Gran Gata and focuses her energy on the present moment. Again—this is progress. All the meetings say so, anyway.

When Sofie looks up, she finds Esther looking at her with a thoughtful expression. Ricky, for his part, has started staring directly at the ceiling instead of in any general direction. Sofie puts two and two together quickly as she surveys the scantily clad mannequins and advertisements.

“I don’t know where to look,” he says honestly as Sofie bursts into laughter. Esther quirks her head at Ricky and smiles warmly.

“It’s alright, we’ll go to the changing room,” Sofie says gently. Ricky blushes deeply, looking between Esther and Sofie with the briefest of glances.

“I don’t know if that’s going to help,” he admits.

* * *

“Just lean yourself forward, that’s it—underwire shouldn’t poke you, it should support you—and adjust yourself right in there, perfect,” Sofie coaches as Esther pulls on what must be the twentieth selection Sofie had plucked. Sofie clasps the garment in the back, her fingers dusting over Esther’s spine. Sofie clears her throat. “Gosh, I love that color on you. Okay, you can look, Ricky.”

“He sees me naked regularly,” Esther reminds Sofie with a laugh.

“It’s about the _surprise_ ,” Sofie chides, leaning her hip against Esther’s side. Esther is warm against her and Sofie is surprised at how nice it feels to touch someone again.

“Amazing,” Ricky nods in agreement as he blinks his eyes open at Esther. Ricky has said the words, “amazing,” “incredible,” or “awesome,” in reply to every bra Esther has tried on. Sofie gets it, though: Esther does have a habit of looking incredible, regardless of what pattern or color bra she slips on. She’s a naturally beautiful girl, the kind of casual beauty Sofie should be envious of—but strangely isn’t.

“I didn’t think lace would be comfortable, but weirdly, it is?” Esther admits, twirling in the mirror.

Sofie hears a snap of a photo being taken. She whips around to find Ricky taking a selfie while holding approximately ten bras.

“Ricky, please tell me you’re not posting pictures with your half-naked girlfriend in the background to the thousands of people that follow you on Instagram,” Sofie says tightly.

Ricky shows Sofie the photo, which really does only depict Ricky giving a thumbs up, covered in bras, with the caption, “Make sure you’re wearing the right bra size! It’s important!”

“You know what, it’s a good message,” Sofie nods. "He should post it."

* * *

Dale never really cared about what she wore, but Sofie liked to look nice. She kept it classy in standard colors mostly—with the occasional leopard print. It didn’t stay on for long with Dale, anyway.

As far as she can remember.

It's not something she will ever tell a single soul, but Sofie cannot remember the first time she and Dale had sex. She was so blitzed on vodka sodas in an attempt to get "loose" that she can only recall waking up in the morning and patting herself on the back for finally hooking up with the quiet but hot accountant who had just moved into the neighborhood. Now that he's gone, Sofie hates herself for not cementing that memory in her brain. She hates a lot about her alcoholism, but that one's up there.

Sofie threw away the fun stuff a long time ago—everything besides the leopard print, at least. She’s not really seducing folks these days, anyway.

* * *

“A few of those are perfect every day types, under a tee-shirt or a cami, very cute,” Sofie says, handing over Esther’s haul to Ricky to hold. “And that purple one is perfect for a birthday or some other special occasion,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows. “Anniversary, maybe. How long have you two been together now?”

Ricky and Esther exchange a look with each other—a lover’s glance, Sofie sighs to herself—before Esther takes Sofie’s hand. “Thank you so much, Sofie, I’ll put these to excellent use. Can we make you dinner tonight, as a thank you?” Esther squeezes Sofie’s hand tightly, and once again, Sofie finds herself leaning into the touch for a long moment before removing her hand from Esther’s grip gingerly. Her mouth feels incredibly dry.

“I don’t really want to be a third wheel for the two of you lovebirds,” Sofie balks.

“I think dinner is a great idea,” Ricky nods. “I found a new p-protein I really want us to try out.”

"We want you to come," Esther tells Sofie. "Our treat."

* * *

Sofie brings over a basket of cookies from Spaghetti's Bakery and a lasagna, mostly because she can’t arrive at someone else’s apartment without some variety of food or gift. It’s just not hospitable, and let it be known that Sofia Bicycleta Lee is the queen of Italian American hospitality, okay? It is, in itself, a feat that Sofie resists pregaming the dinner. It's something she would have done without thinking perhaps a year ago—broken out a nice chardonnay and polished it off before a night on the town with Dale. It was cheaper than buying twenty dollar mixed drinks at some overpriced hotel lounge.

Ricky opens the door shirtless. Sofie tries not to do a double-take. Truly, sometimes looking at Ricky is like looking at the sun.

“I see the eight-pack is going well,” Sofie says to herself as Ricky brings her in for a warm hug.

“I just finished my evening reps,” Ricky nods, pointing at the pull-up bar in the pass-through hall between the kitchen and living room. “No days off. Glad you made it.”

Esther is in the kitchen, putting some finishing touches on a few healthy sized burgers, when Sofie walks in. She waves Sofie in, her cardigan lazily dropping off her right shoulder. Sofie spies a stripe of purple lace and raises her eyebrows. _The special occasion bra_. Ricky’s going to be getting very lucky tonight, Sofie thinks to herself.

“You didn’t need to bring anything, Sofie,” Esther chides as Sofie pops the lasagna in the oven to warm it up. “This is our treat for you.”

“You know I’ve got to keep my hands busy these days,” Sofie says with a tight smile. “Anyway, you can always just keep it for lunch tomorrow. Some nice leftovers for the two of you.”

“I don’t think Ricky’s eaten a carb in a long while,” Esther says gingerly as Ricky’s eyes go wide in mild horror, “but I’m sure I’ll find a way to put homemade lasagna to good use. Thank you.”

Sofie sighs. “I should know better than to bring a carbohydrate into your home, Ricky.”

Ricky puts a broad hand on Sofie’s shoulder. Sofie is sad to look up and find that he has put on a shirt. “Maybe I can bring it to the shelter tomorrow?”

Sofie smiles a little too tightly. “Sure, that’s great.”

Sofie thinks this would be easier if she were a little less sober.

* * *

The things Sofie wants, in no particular order: her husband back from the dead, a cigarette, Esther in her new sleek purple negligee, a classy new faux-fur blanket for the common space at the Order of the Concrete Fist, Ricky naked beneath her with broad hands on her hips, and one last drink for old time’s sake.

She can probably afford the faux-fur blanket. Everything else is off the menu.

* * *

Sofie doesn’t know when they ended up on the couch. Esther puts _Killing Eve_ on in the background, despite the fact that they’ve watched the pilot together before.

“Sandra Oh really is a marvel in this,” Sofie nods at the television screen, and she feels Esther nod beside her. Sofie and Esther are sharing a pillow on the long couch Ricky had snagged at a flea market when the two had first moved into the loft together.

“Incredible hair, too,” Esther agrees. Her feet wiggle in Ricky’s lap across the couch where he is dutifully massaging her toes.

The episode is almost done when Esther asks, “Hey, can you come into the bedroom for a second, Sof? I gotta ask you something.”

She takes Sofie by the hand and brings her inside, away from Ricky and Villanelle. 

“I just wanted your opinion on something,” Esther says, eyes gleaming in the muted lights of late evening.

She takes off her shirt.

“I already told you, you look great in that little number,” Sofie says weakly as Esther stares at her with a curious expression on her face. “It’s a real statement piece. Fancy looking.”

“You said this was for special occasions only,” Esther nods. 

“Listen, I should probably go,” Sofie says, taking a step back.

Esther puts her hands on Sofie’s arms. “You could go,” she says thoughtfully. She trails a finger down Sofie’s wrist. “Or you could stay.”

Sofie backs up directly into a hard wall of man.

“Hey, Sofie,” Ricky says with a smile.

Esther looks bashful, for her part. “We probably should have gone about this a different way, but—we’re interested in you. Both of us.” She clears her throat. “If you’d like that sort of thing.”

Sofie's brain short-circuits, just a little.

“What?” Sofie asks smartly as Esther takes a step closer. "What are you saying?"

"I think you heard me," Esther says, eyes glistening with purpose.

“Maybe it won’t be weird...if we just don’t make it weird,” Ricky suggests as Sofie looks up over her shoulder at him. “And then, maybe it will just be good.”

With Esther in front of her and Ricky behind her, Sofie is—Sofie _wants_ —shit.

_Shit._

Sofie needs a drink.

* * *

Sofie settles for a cigarette, the emergency one she has in her purse, and smokes it quietly on Ricky and Esther's balcony—alone.

Sofie holds the door to the balcony closed while Ricky attempts to burst it open, but Sofie's not a pushover, not by a long-shot. Sofie's perched a chair under the doorknob in such a way that Ricky's rattling of the door does little to open it up. Sofie does forget that Esther can teleport, though.

"Hey," Esther says gently, drawing out the word as she appears in a sheen of magical energy on the balcony. Esther is wearing her cardigan over her purple bra now. It's just a fucking shame that Sofie can never get what she wants. "So—not our finest hour. We really sprung that on you, huh?"

"Trust me when I say that the problem is not you," Sofie says darkly, taking a drag on her cigarette.

The problem has always been Sofie. If she had been smarter, she might have realized the truth about Dale's disappearance. If she had been stronger, she could have saved Kugrash from his fate. If she had drank a little more, she could have broken open the gates of heaven itself. Sofie reaches into her pocket and feels for her six month chip. It is ridged and flat as she flicks it between her fingers, letting it finally alight in the center of her hand. As it sits there, the coin seems to burn in her palm. How has it served her, the little reminder to stay on the straight and narrow? How has any of this life served her well? Sofie honestly considers throwing the chip off the balcony into oncoming traffic.

Instead, Sofie takes the coin out of her pocket and shows it to Esther.

"We know you're not drinking anymore," Esther says softly.

"I know," Sofie nods, sniffling a little. "But it's different to know it and to feel it. And I want you two so _much_ that it reminds me sometimes—" Sofie swallows. "I keep thinking about how things were easier to handle when I was drinking. Things felt smoother. Better, in certain ways."

Esther takes Sofie's hand. "Sofie."

"The weird thing is that the bullshit they sell you at the meetings, the whole _recovery is forever_ spiel—that's _real_ , and it's so much harder than I had hoped it would be." Sofie stuffs the cigarette in her mouth once more to keep herself from bursting into tears.

Esther hums under her breath before quietly moving the chair out of the way and letting Ricky on the balcony. Ox, Ricky's dalmatian familiar, bounds outside and nuzzles into Sofie's lap. He is warm

"Cuddling with Ox always makes me feel better," Ricky tells them as he steps outside. He is still shirtless, and that in itself is a balm on Sofie's nerves. "Woah! Sofie. I didn't realize that I've never given you the smoking is bad for you speech."

"Not the time, Ricky," Esther says delicately.

"Two words: lung cancer," Ricky says resolutely. 

Esther sticks her tongue out at Ricky, grabbing the cigarette from Sofie's lips and taking a long drag. She tosses the butt down at her feet and snuffs it out quickly. "Everybody has vices."

Sofie laughs as she pets Ox, scratching him behind the ears. 

"Alcohol is more than a vice for me, Esther. But thank you for trying to make things easier. You're a sweet girl," Sofie says with a smile.

Ricky pulls a thick wool blanket over the three of them as they stare out into the Brooklyn night sky. Manhattan shines glimmering in the distance across the river.

"No one expects your journey to be perfect," Esther says. "We're not all Ricky."

"I'm definitely not perfect," Ricky says. Sofie and Esther glare at him. "Interesting expressions on both of your faces. I feel like you're both mad at me."

"I sometimes think that if I just don't feel the big highs and lows of life, I can just—coast through it," Sofie admits. "And then I won't need alcohol to numb the world. Not if I'm already numb to it."

Esther's eyes are dark and piercing when she finally replies. "I played that game for a long time, Sofie. It's not something I recommend."

Sofie just brings Esther's head down against her chest. "I know. I'm sorry." She leans down and, in a moment of serenity, kisses Esther's brow. Esther cuddles into Sofie's side, a warm balm against the winter air.

Sofie sniffs. "Yeah, I don't like living that way. I like to be surrounded by people who make me feel things." Sofie looks down and locks eyes with Esther. "I like the purple bra." Sofie turns her head to Ricky. "I like your new p-protein, which sounds very dirty now that I'm saying it out loud—but I did just compliment your girlfriend's bra in a very non-platonic way, so I think we're all past that."

"That's fair," Ricky nods.

Sofie smiles. "Maybe we can take things a little slower than flashing some purple negligees and eight-pack abs at me?"

"We were just going with our assets," Esther points out. "But duly noted."

"Fair, if I looked like the two of you, I'd probably do the same thing," Sofie laughs.

"Sorry our wooing was so forward," Ricky nods. "We'll do better next time."

"How's your weekend looking?" Esther asks.

"I'm all booked up," Sofie jokes. Esther punches her lightly on the thigh before smoothing out her hand over the skin of Sofie's jeans. "Kidding! I'm kidding. Come on over to Staten Island, let me host you two."

Esther and Ricky wince and glance at each other before smiling broadly. "Staten Island?"

"You can take a lovely ferry ride," Sofie points out. "It's kind of a package deal, with me," she adds. "The commute."

"I once swam the river in like, two minutes," Ricky notes, curling the two of them closer under the blankets so that they are fully entwined on the bench. "So the ferry might be kind of optional."

Esther's face sours. "There's no universe where I'm swimming in that river, so I think the ferry is non-negotiable, sweetie."

* * *

About a week later, Sofie is waiting for Esther and Ricky to arrive at her new place in Staten Island, the apartment above Spaghetti's she's been renting since her house's "mysterious arson incident." She's wearing the leopard print bra that makes her stand up a little straighter. Her six month chip is on the mantle, near the wedding photo of her and Dale in front of the New York City skyline.

There is no liquor in the house. Sofie is determined to remember every minute of this evening.

The doorbell rings, and Sofie lets Esther and Ricky inside.


End file.
